


Echoes on Stone

by luinel (geekns)



Series: Echoes [2]
Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Alien Biology, Alien Mythology/Religion, Alien Sex, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Future Relationship(s) - Freeform, Loss of Virginity, Mutual Masturbation, POV Donna, Past Relationship(s), Rape/Non-con Elements, Ritual Public Sex, Telepathic Bond, Telepathic Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-05-15
Updated: 2010-05-20
Packaged: 2018-12-25 14:27:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 3
Words: 14,559
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12037806
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/geekns/pseuds/luinel
Summary: The Doctor and Donna stumble upon an alien fertility festival and are forced to participate... or else.  My take on the old cliché. So i'm diving into smut land with the forced sex story. Not only that, but it's alien!sex smut.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: Doctor Who is not mine, but i have trouble accepting the show as "for kids"... not that this particular romp is for family, either.  
> A/N: Takes place after Midnight but before Turn Left... in other words, AU, no metacrisis here.

Donna wondered where the Doctor was.  She was flanked on either side by women who had bathed, buffed, and oiled her body to perfection. There was no makeup on this planet, but the perfumed oil they had rubbed her with smelled heavenly, though it was so strong in this confined space that it made her feel lightheaded and dizzy. They were in an underground room where her hair was curling wildly in the humidity. She pulled the ceremonial robes tighter around herself, shivering against the cool air that was wafting in on a breeze, and was grateful for the warmth the covering provided her.  She stood stock still as they arranged a veil over her hair, which matched the sheer fabric she was clothed in exactly:  it provided some anonymity even while it was transparent enough to see through.  She was all for more modesty at the moment, no matter how slight of an amount, as she was feeling slightly violated; she wasn't the type for massages in the buff or spa treatments.  
  
Her thoughts were flying at a hundred lightyears a minute, pressed up against each other and fighting for dominance. They had come to this place looking for a way to relax, to escape from worrying about the horrors of what they had seen. They hadn't bargained for stumbling upon a planet's much revered fertility festival and being forced into participating. To these people it was a great honor to be chosen, and to refuse was an insult punishable by death. Children were rare on this planet, and held sacred, and fertility greatly rewarded, though she had discovered that children were not raised specifically by their parents, but by a team of people who were trained up from the time that they were barely more than children themselves.  
  
Fear and adrenaline coursed through Donna's veins. Not only would she and the Doctor be forced to perform before thousands of people, but without any form of protection. Her thoughts were on her lost Joshua and Ella, on Jenny, on all that she had once longed for and given up on when she decided to travel with the Doctor instead. She was afraid of the possibility of her dreams finally coming true and the specter of losing the fruition of those dreams in the same moment.  
  
And the Doctor... the lines had blurred for them. She had denied any connection between them for so long that she was almost afraid to believe differently. But she had discovered that she loved him in ways that were beyond comprehension. She had never imagined being able to feel so much for another person. She wasn't sure if it meant that they could ever work as a couple, or if they were already something more, but she was afraid of losing him more than anything. She wasn't ready for this, her thoughts had already been confused enough, and this would only complicate things further.  
  
But the time for these doubts was over. They were marching forward now, accompanied by lute and timbrel, and suddenly they were stepping out of the tunnel into an amphitheater. The crowd chanted together, in time with the beat of the music, the voices washing over her like waves, overlapping in a cacophony that she couldn't quite make out, save for a word or two here or there.  She decided to focus on breathing and walking straight forward instead.  
  
The “we” that she was about to become with the Doctor... wasn't the only coupling here. There was two other women, both walking in front of her, and two other men, which she could just now see coming up the opposite side of the dais, upon which was placed one of the altars. The couples split off from their respective groups now, and Donna was dismayed to discover that she was meant for the more elevated part of the platform, and the other couples were meant for the farther forward but less highlighted altars. All of the groups came to a halt, the couples separated by their designated altar, and a high priest standing nearby to bless the proceedings.  
  
She could see the Doctor's face now, his features flickering in the torchlight. He looked as nervous and as likely to be ill as she felt. She knew that he probably couldn't see her features beneath her veil, and she imagined that probably made it harder for him. As strange as this situation was, she realized that she trusted him implicitly, and that there was no one else she would rather be doing this with. Which sent a shock of anticipation coursing through her unexpectedly: she blushed at the thought of what was about to happen, her thoughts turning (not for the first time) to what the Doctor might look like beneath that pinstriped suit. He was wearing a sleeveless hip-length tunic that did not cover as much as her robes did, but was far less transparent than her own. She took in the sight of his bare arms, legs, and feet. She had never seen so much of his skin. He looked human enough from here.  
  
The high priest fell silent, and the music and chanting in the crowd began again. Donna felt herself be prodded forward, but as soon as she was face to face with the Doctor, her escorts withdrew to what they must have felt was a respectful distance. His hands caught up the veil's hem, which brushed her waist, and lifted it up, over her head, revealing her face to him. They were standing so close that his breath washed over her forehead. It smelled like a cinnamon breath mint, or gum. She hadn't had anything to clean her teeth with, she was sorry to say, but she doubted that she would taste as bad as anchovies and walnuts. That is, assuming he kissed her... would he kiss her?  
  
“Donna,” he voiced softly.  
  
“Hello,” she breathed. He dipped his forehead to meet her own, and her eyelids drifted shut without thought, shutting out the rest of the world. She tried to imagine that the voices around her  _were_  waves, and not voices at all.  
  
“I wish we had more time,” he whispered. “Are you sure that you want to do this?”  
  
“Am I sure that I don't want to die?” she asked, eyes now open to judge his reaction. She had meant it to sound like a joke, but his entire body stiffened perceptibly. As if he weren't tense enough to begin with: now she had made things harder for him.  She sighed, and lifted her hands to take his in her own. He dropped the veil stiffly, allowing it to fall behind her, his hands clenched tightly. The veil proved to be too heavy for the combs in her hair, and she could feel it all slipping, freeing her curls, which had a mind of their own tonight. She rubbed the backs of his hands reassuringly, gently stroking them up and down, wrist to knuckles: “Doctor, I'm sorry, but I want you to not worry about me for a little bit.”  
  
“I can't do that,” he told her. “Donna, I told them that we have a ritual that we must fulfill, that is different than their own, but I can only stall for so long.” He lifted his eyes to meet hers for the first time. “I'm a Time Lord, this isn't as easy for me as it is for you.”  
  
“For me?” she asked, confused, not sure if she should be offended or not.  
  
“Humans can have as many mates as they choose, a different one every day of the week, but it doesn't work that way for us.”  
  
“Do I look like slut?” she demanded. She couldn't help it, she slapped him. She could hear movement behind her, causing her to freeze in alarm, and then the Doctor did something she wasn't expecting: he laughed. He wrapped his arms around her and held her tight. The escorts settled again, and the Doctor smiled down at her.  
  
“I only meant that humans are capable of doing that, not that you choose to,” he assured her. “Time Lords bond before they can even initiate intercourse, and we bond for life.” Realization flooded through her. It sounded like he was talking about marriage, was he talking about marriage? She had never even hoped that he would want such a thing from her, of course he must still think of Rose in that way.  Like every time she thought of Rose, she now felt ashamed:  ashamed that she wanted more from the Doctor than he could give.  
  
“I'm sorry,” she whispered. He pulled back, startled:  
  
“Shouldn't I be saying that to you?” he asked. One hand was stroking up and down her arm, whisper soft, more intimate than anything that she had ever felt from him before. It was true, they had held hands, and hugged, but it had always seemed natural. It startled her how natural this felt, too.  
  
“I only meant...” she drifted off, unsure of herself. “Can you do this? What about Rose?” He blinked at her.  
  
“Rose and I never... we were friends, not...” he seemed flabbergasted. “Rose was like a daughter to me.” There was movement behind Donna, she could hear it, and the Doctor stepped between her and the unseen threat, his body suddenly bristling with anger. He growled something that the Tardis didn't translate, and the offender withdrew enough for him to relax again. “Donna, we're out of time.”  
  
He moved her towards the altar, untangling the veil fully from her hair, and sitting her back on the stone table. He knelt between her legs, pressing his body to hers firmly, and started kissing her. He kissed her mouth, softly at first, then so hard that it took her breath away. His hands moved to tangle in her hair, to roam her back, to brush her side from her hip to the side of her breast, fingers ghosting across her flesh in ways that seemed all at once to be friendly, comforting, and intensely intimate. He moved to nuzzle her ear, his hands somehow continuing their soothing petting motion even as he spoke: “I need your answer.”  
  
Answer? How was she meant to say anything at all? Donna's body was coming alive beneath his touch, and it shocked her. She had never felt anything like this. He had hardly touched her yet, they were in public, and he had already done more to arouse her than Lance or any of her other boyfriends had. She knew how this worked in theory, had pleasured the men that she had loved, but they had never pleasured her. She had always felt that was more her failure than theirs, but the Doctor... did he know what he was doing to her? She remembered that he had been a father, he had done this before, with another woman, with who knows how many women, but she was still a virgin. Lance hadn't been interested, and she hadn't been interested with anyone else. She had always hoped for a feeling like this, but never experienced it, in fact she had despaired that such a thing was real and not the pathetic myth of chick flicks and trashy romance novels. But for all that he was making her feel, she could tell, because the Doctor's body was firmly pressed against her own, that he wasn't in the slightest bit aroused.  
  
“I am so confused,” she moaned as he started to lick her neck.  
  
“I want to make this as quick possible for you, Donna, but I need your answer now,” he whispered between laving her decolletage with open mouth kisses. He must be trying to get rid of the oil on her skin, she realized. Despite the fact that she was slowly coming apart at the seams, he was in full control. Was he only putting on a show for those who were watching? Or maybe he couldn't actually perform unless something changed. He needed something from her, something that he didn't have time to explain, and perhaps was afraid to. This grounded her enough to respond:  
  
“I choose you,” she breathed. He pulled back abruptly, startled. She leaned forward and kissed him. His mouth was closed to her, which would not do at all. She brushed her tongue against his lips, begging permission. His lips parted slightly, and her tongue massaged his own, probing tentatively. The oil tasted terrible, she wasn't sure what had driven him to ingesting it, but she felt wet all over, and was sure most of it was gone from her face and cleavage by now. And suddenly he was kissing her back, and his tongue was so talented that it drove her breathless again. She should have known, with him always licking things. He broke the kiss far too quickly, and was suddenly pressing something into her hands.  
  
“Drink this,” he commanded her. It was a small vial, less than 5cm in length and about 1cm in diameter: the perfect size to fit in his fist without being noticed. She looked at him questioningly: “It's the only way,” he assured her. She decided to trust him, and used her nail to break the seal and pry the small lid open, then drank the liquid down. There was more in that tiny beaker than she had been expecting, as if it was bigger on the inside. The liquid warmed her as it slid down her throat, and coiled in her stomach like hot tea, banishing the cold she felt and feeling familiar, yet just alien enough to make her wonder.  
  
And then she felt the Doctor's hands on her temples, his mind brushing against her own gently, asking entrance, and her eyes opened to meet his. She trusted him. Instead of the opening sensation that she had felt last time, when he had enabled her to hear the Ood's Song, this time she felt as if she was being sucked inside a place that was dark and hidden. She realized that it wasn't her mind that they were in this time, but his. A door opened to her, revealing a vista of stars that shined so bright that she had to squint against their brilliance. The Doctor was here with her, gazing at her with an expression that she had never seen before, one completely unguarded and open. They floated, weightless, the galaxy turning around them, them floating around each other, and she blinked at him dumbly, uncertain, afraid. He leaned towards her, his lips brushing against her ear, and whispered one word.  
  
The universe stopped, then sped up to spin in a dizzying blur of colors, which exploded in her mind. Suddenly she could see all of time unfold before her, everything that had been, that could be, that must not. The warmth in Donna's belly uncoiled unexpectedly, flooding her entire body, and she sagged against the Doctor, sobbing. He held her in his arms, his hands now wrapped around her, but his mind was still there, pressing against her own, urgent and overwhelming. He whispered something in her ear, in Gallifreyan, and though she recognized it she didn't in the same moment. She knew that he was saying that he was sorry, but she didn't know the words any more than she knew any foreign or alien language. And then, almost abruptly, his mind pulled away from hers, and instead of the relief that she expected to experience the sensation was jarring, and missed. It took her a few more moments to come back to herself, to come back to earth, to where they were.  
  
He was untying her robe now. She could feel his loins finally stirring to life against her own, a slight twitch, a gentle nudge, but filled with the promise of more. He slid the robes down her arms, then lifted her hands in his own, pressing one wrist to his face. He dropped her hands, and leaned closer, and she was overwhelmed with the scent of him... or was he overwhelmed with the scent of her? There was still his voice with her, just a whisper of sensation at the edge of her mind, as if he was shielding her. But she could feel him gradually grow and lengthen between them. She ran her fingers through his hair, ruffling his locks wildly, cradling his head as he ran his nose against her cheek, her nose, her cheek, her nose, in a strange Eskimo kiss caress. He dipped his face to her throat, and licked her, his breathing growing ragged, his body coming alive before her, and she shifted her hips against him boldly, but he growled and eased away.  
  
She gasped for air as he unfolded his body from the space between her thighs, and held his frame above her own, so close and yet so far away. He leaned her back against the cold stone, with only the robe to shield her from it. His lips were hungry on hers, demanding, and in slow degrees managed to wake her back up. Something was happening within her body, she could feel it in new and unexpected ways, almost as if she could count her own heartbeats, or feel every freckle on her body. She felt numb to the world, as if it was removed from a bubble of protection that he had created for her, even as she was keenly aware of the uncomfortable shape and texture of the altar beneath her. Everything felt close and oppressive and safer somehow, it was very strange and distant and near, all together all at the same time.  
  
His hands started to roam her body again, but with more purpose now, to knead her breasts deliciously, to stroke her stomach delightfully, stoking the fire that was building in her. The flame was spreading within her, was lapping away at her resistance, her nerves. The universe had faded away, and all she could feel again was him and the altar that held her up to him. His body was not touching hers, save his mouth and hands, and then his hard length. Their bodies seemed miles away from each other, only touching at these two points, longing for connection.  Now he was erect and ready, his manhood reaching for her, pressing his need into her soft belly, probing, searching.  
  
She reached down to take it in hand, curious, but the Doctor stopped her: he took her wrists in one of his hands and held them firmly above her head. It wasn't painful, his touch was gentle, and it made her yearning grow. She intensely longed to touch him, to feel his body the way he had been feeling hers. Something in his expression told her that he was shutting her out. Her mind pressed against his, and he flinched, not wanting to let her in. She closed her eyes and imagined the ways in wish she wanted to touch him. She would drift her palms against the chiseled planes of his body, feeling muscle flex over bone. She would cup his bum and knead it, drawing him closer. She would caress his face, learn with touch what her eyes already knew with familiarity. She would coax his body awake with steepled fingertips sweeping across his cool skin, whisper soft, touching everywhere, until at last she took his throbbing penis in hand and pleasured him with warm and even strokes. She was not completely inexperienced, she had seen Human men, and she pictured him the way she imagined he would look too. She remembered what those men had felt like in her hand, hot and hard and ready, but imagined that is was him that she was pleasuring, not them. There was nothing in the universe but her and the Doctor, her Doctor.  
  
The Doctor shuddered, his arousal hardened even further against her, and he lifted himself back, off of her. He was kneeling between her legs again, his hands lifting her skirt just enough for his hands to brush against her ankles, asking permission. She sat up, emboldened, her gaze taking him in, hungry, but she couldn't see any evidence of his arousal. His legs were folded as he sat back on his heels, thighs spread, but the tunic was annoyingly effective at being modest even as it was riding up higher than when he had stood before her. She wondered if he had somehow managed to tuck himself out of sight, because from what she had felt, he was more than ready and there was no way that a human man would have been able to hide it. He certainly felt too large to be contained by the short tunic he was wearing.  
  
She opened her knees to him more widely, and lifted one foot just enough to place it on his knee, caressing, then sliding it upwards, against his thigh, closer to the heat she longed for with startling urgency. He seized her ankle firmly, halting her progress, and like before he managed to do it with incredible strength and yet restraint. She lifted her gaze to meet his, and she realized that he was blushing. She had never seen him blush before. He wouldn't look at her at first, and when he finally did it surprised her. His pupils were dilated, and his eyes had darkened from their usual red-brown to something closer to chocolate. They looked different, open and raw, less reasoning and more primal, as if he finally was free of the cacophony that competed in his head and was opened and emptied and laid bare. She didn't feel frightened for herself, but for him. Something told her that she should be afraid, but she couldn't be. She trusted him implicitly. She hadn't taken him for shy, but she thrilled at this challenge, emboldened.  
  
Such thoughts were quickly driven from her mind by his own progress. His free hand had slipped up her leg and was now teasing at her curls. She looked down to where his fingertips were fluttering, and realized that he could see her, slick and wide open beneath fabric that left nothing hidden to him. One hand came to rest against her, cupping her need, and she whimpered. He wanted to be in control, he was telling her, and she decided that she wanted to yield. His hands were large, his fingers long and thin, and she wondered, thrilled, didn't have to wait. He slid a finger inside her, deliciously slowly, thrusting it in and out. She was so ready for this. He flicked her clit, and she almost collapsed. She wanted to lean forward, to touch him. She ran her hands through his hair again, reveling in it's soft weightlessness, and then cupped his cheeks, her fingertips tickling his sideburns and earlobes. He turned his head, to kiss the inside of her wrist, then gently dropped her ankle to the side and eased his free hand farther up, to cover her bellybutton and press her back.  
  
She let herself fall back to the stone, and gasped as he withdrew one finger, only to return with two. His fingers curled to stroke her just so, and she arched her back, gasping in pleasure. Her hair fanned about her as it came yet more undone, and she was harshly reminded of the crowd that was hanging above her, the other couples nearby. She could see one man humping his companion, her body bared to everyone. She turned to look the other way, almost without thought, could see one woman moving above her companion, her sheer gown and oiled skin reflecting torchlight, hiding her body and setting her silhouette aglow. Donna's cheeks burned... What were they doing, what was the Doctor doing to her? Her face felt hot, she wanted to hide, but she was so overwhelmed by the sensations that were flooding through her that she couldn't imagine what would happen if he stopped. He added another finger, and she squirmed beneath his gentle ministrations. She was so tight, it was slightly uncomfortable, but the fire in her was screaming for more. She laid her veil over her face, allowing her eyes to flutter shut as he continued to stroke her closer to completion. She writhed beneath his touch, panting, longing for more and afraid at the same time. Something deep within her was building...  
  
His hand withdrew, and she sighed in frustration. He pulled her into his lap unexpectedly, which was uncomfortable because of the bite of the altar's edge, but she was happy to let him peel back the veil again, to kiss her senseless. She ground her hips against him, searching for any sort of friction, and he growled, deep in his throat, louder this time than the last, with clear intention. She stopped her movements and curled herself against him, sobbing. This was too much, how could something be so beautiful and horrible at the same time?  
  
And  _he_... she didn't know what to call him anymore, he made a sound in her ear that she recognized and trembled enthralled with at the same time. It was a soft keening and cooing and undulating sound unlike anything she had ever heard before. He opened his mind to her, and she could see him as a boy, hiding from the Untempered Schism, making this noise to himself because he no longer had a mother to comfort him. Her touch and mind were denied to him, he was all alone even while surrounded by a host of voices at all times. He was afraid, too: he was showing himself to her in a way that she knew he had never shown himself before. He was so old, but he felt so young: and she could see now that he had always been alone. He was remembering his wife now, how she had looked down upon him for some unidentified reason, how he had always had to be a man apart with her, and never himself, always it was duty and custom and responsibility. He was even more scared than she was.  
  
So she took him in her arms, and pressed his face to her breast, and stroked his hair, and whispered reassurances in his ear, and cried for him. He pulled away gradually, in her mind first, which left a hole in her even larger than the time before, and then unwrapping himself from her arms enough to turn, still crouched, and growl. She opened her eyes, and could see his entire body rigid, coiled and ready to strike at anyone who came near. Their escorts were standing closer, their body stance changed, their staffs held in a manner that threatened punishment if she and the Doctor failed to yield. They were out of time. She held up a hand to them, and tried to turn the Doctor back to her. It took a few moments, and then he kissed her, desperate and needy, and slowly deepening into possessive. He pulled away, his eyes beseeching, and she nodded, taking his face in her hands:  
  
“Whatever you have to do, to get through this, I'll be okay.” She kissed him again. The Doctor straightened enough to ease her feet to the ground and pull her backwards with him. He broke their kiss, and caressed her face, then turned her, bending her over the altar, knees spread enough to accommodate his own between them, breasts pressed across her robes which were laid across rough stone. His touch was gentle, and she went willingly. She could feel his need pressed against her backside as he leaned down to lick the back of her neck hungrily. She rocked against him, desperate for connection, and gasped as he lifted the back of her dress, exposing her body from the waist down to the air. But their bodies were quickly pressed together, shielding her, preserving as much of her modesty as possible as he draped his body over hers. She could feel his strong thighs against her bare buttocks, his muscles twitching in anticipation. Her hair shielded her from the lights and gazes of the spectators. She arched against him, pressing her back into his chest, impatient. He was protecting her, all fear had left her, and she was desperate for him to be inside her now. She was throbbing with need.  
  
He pulled back slightly, and placed his hands on her hips. She felt lonely without him pressing her down, cold where his thighs had been, and wondered what he was up to. She wanted to see his face, but understood that maybe it was too much to ask of him right now. His hands held her steady, and then she felt his tip against her entrance, teasing. She thrust her hips backwards without thinking, seeking to force their coupling, but he was gone. She froze, and tried to look back at him, which was difficult given their position. She could only see him out of the corner of her eye. She could feel that his body wasn't moving between her thighs, but she could feel his tip against her sex again, kissing, stroking, teasing, but his torso was still as stone. Her mind was struggling to wrap itself around this.  
  
His hands started massaging her hips, distracting her, and then, without warning, the teasing had ended, and his shaft was slowly pressing inside her. The Doctor shifted one hand beneath her gown, and eased it across her hip, skin on skin. His fingers dipped to find her clitoris, no searching, as if he knew instinctively how to find it, and he proved to be an expert at coaxing her body to new heights despite the fact that he had never been with her before. Other than his hand and penis, he still had not moved, but somehow he slowly eased inside, hard and cool against her heat. He withdrew, then thrust in farther, causing her to gasp. He was so large. He remained still, steadying her as she trembled against him. She was so close to coming. He eased out again, then thrust home. This time she cried out, and buried her face into fabric, trying to muffle her voice.  He was filling her completely, but still he had yet to reach the end of his length.  
  
The hand that was on her hip moved, and he leaned forward against her body again, pressing his hand over one of her own, supporting himself above her. She turned her head, and his nose brushed against her cheek as he arched above her, his hips flexing a bit. She hissed and lifted her bum to meet his stomach. But he was still too far away, even embedded deep inside her. She wondered how long and how large he was. He kissed her cheek, nibbled on her ear, and she began to move beneath him.  
  
This seemed to be what the Doctor was waiting for. She could feel him moving above her for the first time, but his body still felt distant. His penis, on the other hand, was doing glorious things to her body. It moved in ways that took her breath away. It thrust in and out of course, but also undulated, massaging the same places inside her that his fingers had pressed. His thrusts were slow, steady, and smooth, and caused an exquisite friction in her that was slowly growing into a beautiful pitch. His hand glided over her clit, rubbing gently, and she thrust against him more eagerly, desperate for release.  
  
He started to whisper in her ear, words in Gallifreyan again, and they made her heart sing, even as she was wondering what they meant. It slowly rose to a fevered pitch inside her, and she couldn't hold on any longer... She keened loudly as she came hard, causing a cheer to rise from the crowd, and a renewed vigor in the chanting. She had almost forgotten that they were there. The Doctor's movements continued as she rode the waves, and then, unexpectedly, he groaned loudly and collapsed on top of her, causing yet more fervor from the crowd. The trio of couples having accomplished their goal, the festivities were able to begin in earnest.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This time we delve more into what it means for a Time Lord to bond with a Time Lady, and why the Doctor hasn't been rocking the Tardis any time recently. I've taken some liberties, but it lines up with all the canon that i have seen thus far. And of course, this is not work friendly.

Donna was only dimly aware of the crowd, even now. She was still catching her breath; she had never come so hard in her life. Her body was buzzing in a pleasant way, wide awake and pleasantly surprised. But the Doctor, he hadn't come. At least, he hadn't ejaculated as far as she could tell. He was still hard inside her, quivering and needy, his body pressed against hers, but his weight still not fully on her: he had caught himself and was leaning heavily on his forearms. He kissed the back of her neck some more, licking it hungrily, and then he stopped abruptly, and his penis withdrew from her. He lifted himself off her, covering her back up before moving to lay across the altar beside her.  
  
She turned to face him instinctively, and he wrapped her in his arms. She realized that she was crying, that beneath the euphoria she felt shattered, and it took her a few moments to pull herself back together, to ground herself in him. Eventually, he helped her to her feet, lifting the cloak to shield her from prying eyes, and she was grateful. She turned to face him, still curious, and wondered at the sight of him. His tunic was slightly wrinkled, but she could see no evidence of his continued arousal. His eyes would not meet her own, and though he shielded her from the gazes of the remaining crowd—which was quickly thinning out—he did not touch her. They were escorted back into blessed darkness, their clothes and belongings were returned to them, and the Doctor led the way back to the Tardis, without stopping long enough to change out of their ceremonial garb.  
  
The streets were full of people, so they stuck mainly to the alleys and smaller walkways. The dancing, singing, and laughter were reflected towards them, echoing against the stone buildings, vibrating through her in a harsh emphasis of how alone she currently felt. She followed the Doctor closely, his presence pulling at her like a rubber band that stretched painfully tight if she fell too far behind. She wanted to touch him. She wanted his hand, or a hug, but he only showed her his back. She followed him, stumbling barefoot over cobblestones, and paused to put her shoes back on, but he didn't wait for her. She reached out to him mentally, longing for the warmth and acceptance she had felt back there... before. But he was closed to her now. She followed him in silence.  
  
When they entered the Tardis, she gasped. The ship was singing to her, welcoming her home. She closed her eyes and drank it in. When she opened her eyes, the Doctor was gone. She felt dizzy, not exactly hungry, but longing with the same urgency. She did not understand what she was feeling. She wasn't sure if she should follow him or give him privacy. He seemed to want privacy, but she wasn't sure that was what he needed. She decided that a bath would be a good idea. It wasn't until she had gotten undressed that she realized that she had bled slightly. She wondered if he knew, how strong his sense of smell was, if he had faked completion so he could get them out of the situation faster, to spare her. She didn't know what he was feeling, and it scared her.  
  
An hour later, and Donna was laying in bed, wide awake. She was slightly stiff and sore, but more than anything else she felt empty and confused. She didn't understand why she felt so lonely, seeing how the Tardis was whispering at her, her mind was filled fuller than it normally was. But this didn't change the fact that she felt very different, and more alone than ever before, as if she was missing a part of herself. She was still wondering why the Doctor had suddenly become so distant, when during their experience he had been so gentle and giving. She had a feeling that she needed to find him and make sure that he was okay. In fact, the more she thought about him, the more worried she felt. So she got up and pulled her robe on over her flannel pajamas.  
  
The Doctor's room was very close to hers, she could see his door nearly across from her own room. She knocked on the door gently, but could only hear silence on the other side. She listened very hard, and then could make out the door unlocking itself, slowly and quietly. The Tardis nudged her, and Donna opened the door. The room was dim, but there was enough light for her to see his figure on the bed. He was turned away from her.  
  
"Doctor?” she called. He inhaled sharply:  
  
"Go away.”  His voice was scratchy, as if he had been crying. She took a step inside, worried. Halfway to the bed, she stopped dead in her tracks as a glorious smell hit her. Her toes curled in the carpet, and she panted quietly as desire pulsed through her, waking her body back up fully. She wondered if this was what it felt like to get high. The Doctor sat up halfway and seemed to half crawl, half drag himself farther away from her. “I mean it, Donna, you can't be in here right now!” The farther he moved away from her, the more the heat within her lessened.  
  
"Doctor, are you in pain?” she asked. He hissed abruptly in response. She approached him hesitantly, trying to keep a clear head, which was difficult due to his proximity, but when she heard a muffled sob she lost all sense of decorum, and launched herself onto the bed, kneeling behind him, and stroking his arm gently in an attempt to comfort him. He flipped her over abruptly, sending her back into the pillows, and pinning her to the mattress. He rubbed his nose against her jawline, then licked her tentatively:  
  
"You smell so good,” he moaned, hips thrusting slightly, humping her haphazardly. She froze in surprise at the sensation of his long penis pressing into her belly insistently. She could feel even more of his length now, and was fairly certain that he was even longer than she had imagined. She was also suddenly aware that he was starkers, when for some reason she had previously assumed that he merely hadn't changed. She wasn't quite sure how to respond.  But the Doctor seemed to have realized what he was doing on his own, and was suddenly across the room, huddled in an armchair, folded into a fetal position. “You can't be here right now,” he told her. “I'll only end up hurting you again.” She sat up, staring towards him in the dark, and could feel a pull so strong that it made her want to cry. This had been what she had been missing,  _him_.  
  
"Is that what you think?” she asked. She untied her robe absentmindedly, and threw it in the corner. It was too warm for that in here, the walls too close, and she had to restrain herself from stripping. Tardis had brought the lights up slightly, or her eyes had adjusted to the darkness, or both, and she could see that he was rocking back and forth in the chair.  
  
"I can still smell the blood,” he confirmed.  
  
"I'm  _fine_ ," she tried to reassure him, but he wasn't listening. He inhaled deeply, half-unfolding, then shuddered, and resumed his position:  
  
“Donna...” he keened. “You're driving me crazy.” He hid his face in his beautiful hands. She walked around the bed slowly, hesitantly. She was desperate to get closer, to make sure he was okay, to feel his bare skin against hers. She wasn't sure where that last bit came from, but felt like she was overheating. Her feet found his tunic on the floor, and she froze, realization that this was the Doctor and that he was completely naked flooding through her. She hadn't cared until just now, why hadn't she cared? Normally she would have been paralyzed with embarrassment.  
  
"What did you give me?” she asked. She blindly pulled a blanket off the bed, and took a few steps forward hesitantly. Oh, the way he smelled, how could she have never noticed? She collapsed in front of his chair and laid her face and hair across his feet.  He smelled like earth and stone and of something else tangy and sweet, distinctly him. She moaned.  
  
"Something to make the right pheromones in your body to entice me,” he answered. “Oh, you smell so good...” He leaned forwards, his body still folded up, but his hands tangling in her hair. “Bonding makes the urge to mate even stronger...” he groaned, “which would explain why it is taking everything in me not to...” He recoiled suddenly, returning to the relative safety of his previous position in the chair. He was clearly conflicted, waging a war between the man of measured intimacy and the more basic urges that brought him closer to the carnal side that he never indulged.  
  
Donna stood and draped the blanket over him, tucking it firmly around him. The fire in her veins dulled slightly, leaving her body buzzing all over, but it felt more manageable. She climbed into the chair with him, curling her body around him, hugging him. At first he shifted away from her, then let her rub him comfortingly. After a time he surrendered to her embrace, drawing slightly closer. She brushed kisses against his chin, nuzzling closer to him, torn between providing solace and this overwhelming desire. But his needs were greater than hers right now; he was still emotionally tender and raw, not fully healed from the injuries of what had happened to him on Midnight. He had been alone there, she hadn't been able to help him then, but she would not leave him now. She had so many questions. This silence was not good for either of them, maybe she could draw him out?  
  
"I don't want you to be in pain like this,” she hummed against his neck. “Why didn't you let yourself finish out there?” She hadn't meant to start with this question. She could tell that he was trying not to breathe, to avoid smelling her. His entire body was rigid with the effort of resisting her. This gave her hope that he wasn't completely repulsed by what had happened between them.  
  
"It's not that easy” he returned, trying to pull away. She was clinging to him too tightly to make it an easy prospect. “It takes me a long time, an hour at least.”  
  
"And how long is it going to take you to calm down on your own?” she asked. He stilled, looked slightly repulsed at her veiled insinuation.  She supposed that masturbation was an alien concept to a Time Lord.  He turned even farther away from her:  
  
"Three days... thereabouts.”  
  
"That doesn't sound at all appealing to me,” she argued. One hand had started to roam across his naked back, delighting in the sensations of his skin beneath her hands that had so long been denied to her. She felt drunk, completely uninhibited, but part of her was extremely worried.  Unlike in the amphitheater, he didn't object to her touching him, but he wasn't giving in or reciprocating. “Please let me help you,” she begged. He sighed, and twisted around to face her, half in her lap, half not, but still folded up as tight as a jackknife.  
  
"I'm rubbish at weddings,” he told her. “Especially my own.” She stroked his hair, brushing it out of his eyes, which finally met her own in the dark. They were wide open to her, which was a rare and unexpected thing:  he was more afraid now than he had been in the amphitheater. She could get lost in that gaze, but that would have to be put aside for now.  
  
"I want to know everything,” she told him. She continued to pet him idly, hesitated: “You were married before?”  
  
"Yes.”  
  
"But you didn't love her.”  
  
"Yes... I mean,” he sighed, allowing his legs to unfold slightly. The leg that was closer to her came to relax in her lap. “No, we didn't love each other. It was an arranged marriage, and she didn't like the fact that I'm half Human.” Donna stopped, surprised:  
  
"You're half Human?”  
  
"Yep.” He popped the p, but she still sensed that he was feeling vulnerable. She moved a hand to rest in his lap, over the bulge that he wasn't hiding as well now as he had been earlier:  
  
"She was disappointed down here?” she guessed. He closed his eyes, grounding himself, but he didn't resist her gentle touch. He twitched beneath her cupped hand, which she kept absolutely still. She wanted to let him get used to the idea of them being something more. She didn't want him to shut her out. She wanted him to want her, which was something new and different and terrifying.  
  
"You must think I'm incredibly shallow,” he said at last.  
  
"No, I don't. We all have our needs, our insecurities, and a man needs to feel like he's impressive.” She allowed herself one slow, firm caress—which was met with a gasp of appreciation—before removing her hand entirely. She knew how to tease. “You impressed me,” she stated, nonchalant. He unfolded his legs further, turned slightly to face her, propping his elbow on the back of the armchair and his head on his hand:  
  
"Even though I'm your first?” he asked. She froze, and unwrapped her arm from around his back, hugging herself instead.  
  
"How did you know?”  
  
"It's the nature of the festival,” he told her, lifting a hand to brush her hair out of her face. “They wouldn't have taken us otherwise.” She blushed:  
  
"You must think I'm pathetic.”  
  
"Only if you think that it's pathetic that I haven't had sex in over eight hundred years because my wife was uninterested and I was too insecure to let anyone else in.” She looked at him in surprise:  
  
"There was never anyone else?”  
  
"Never.” He shook his head, shifted slightly, his long frame finding a more comfortable position. “I did my duty, fathered children that I loved, but was afraid to show it because I knew they would only be taken from me. I cut myself off from everyone, threw myself into my studies, wouldn't allow anyone to even doubt that I was anything but a perfect example of an upstanding Time Lord. And then Susan was born.”  
  
"Susan?”  
  
"My granddaughter, the first of my offspring to have more Human in her than Gallifreyan. She was sick for a long time, and there was debate in the Council whether she should be killed or initiated after she improved, so I stole the Tardis.”  
  
"You what?!?” Donna couldn't believe it. His head was tilted back slightly, his eyes sliding shut as his mind drifted back in time, shifting through long supressed memories.  
  
"Oh yes. I brought her to Earth, and after she had grown a bit older, some of her teachers became suspicious, and I fell in with my first Human companions. But that was lifetimes ago, I was so different.” There was a long silence between them, with only the sounds of the Tardis stretching periodically, a slight groan that she had never noticed before. For the first time, she could really sense that the ship was fully alive. Everything was different now.  
  
"How different?” she asked, afraid.  
  
"Well... my kind, when we get old, or hurt badly enough, we regenerate. Our DNA rewrites itself, heals us, makes us young again.” She wanted to ask, but he beat her to it, turning to face her again. “I'm version 10.0,” he told her frankly. “I've had nine other faces.” He studied her, weighing her reaction. She was trying to remain calm, to not freak out. She slid her hand under the blanket and placed her hand on his thigh. She needed to feel connected to him, she wanted to know that he was real, that she wasn't dreaming. She could feel his heartbeats through an artery under her palm.  
  
"So when River said you weren't finished yet?” she asked quietly.  
  
"She probably knows a different version of me,” he responded with a sigh. “There's no way to know which one because it's in my future. All I know is that, in the meantime, we're stuck with each other.”  
  
Stuck... was that how he felt? She retrieved her hand, and turned away, hid behind her hair, trying not to cry. The silence was heavy between them as he continued to study her in the dark. He reached out a hand to rub her stomach comfortingly: “Are you alright?”  
  
"I'm always alright,” she replied lamely. She tried to convince herself:  she was married to an alien. At least, it was married by his way of thinking. She was sure her mother would have something to say about it. He apparently did not want this, had never wanted more from any of his companions. She had been so wrong. And then she noticed that he had slowly started to unbutton her pajama top, starting at the bottom:  
  
"I said that wrong, didn't I?” he mused quietly. “I said stuck, when what I meant was closer to knitted, or woven.” The last button released, he brushed a hand inside, not to her breast as she had assumed he would, but to slide across her shoulder, moving the fabric aside. He leaned down to kiss the skin that he had bared.  
  
"You said...” a sob caught in her throat. “You don't want me.”  
  
"Is that what you think?” he asked, sliding the fabric as far down her arm as he could without her moving to help him. “Donna Noble, you are the most brilliant woman in the universe, but you're also rather oblivious at times.”  
  
"I am?”  
  
"Might I remind you that  _you_  were the one who stipulated that mating was out of the question?” She blushed, unable to forget how much she had enjoyed mating only an hour or two ago, how much she really wanted to do it again. “I have been trying to register my interest for weeks,” he peeled the fabric off her other shoulder, then pulled down firmly, pinning her arms to her sides and baring her breasts to him fully. She could feel herself blushing bright red all over as he dipped to take her mouth with his own, only to move to kiss her second shoulder, instead.  
  
"You praw...,” she stopped herself, realizing that even loving insults most likely weren't the best idea right now. Not to mention that he was stroking, kissing, and licking his way towards her throat in a way that was quickly driving any coherent thought out of her body completely. “Doctor, I haven't felt that way in a long time, and I'm sorry that I ever said it.”  
  
"How long?” he demanded playfully. He kissed her collarbone, her throat, her jawline, and nibbled on her earlobe. In short, he did anything but allow for her any sort of rational thought, and avoided the place in which she longed to be kissed the most. “I'm waiting,” he hummed against her sensitive flesh.  
  
"I don't know,” she admitted. “Since you needed a shock, maybe?” Kiss, her mind screamed, kiss.  She tried to think back, which was a hard prospect during his teasing attentions.  “No, that's not right.  I realized when you teleported up to the Sontaran vessel.”  He stilled his kisses, and his thumb was gentle on the cheek that one of his hands was cupping.  “You said that you didn't want me to go.  But it came upon me so slowly, that it's almost like...”  
  
"Go on,” he whispered.  
  
"I don't know when the friendship ended, when something new and completely unexpected began,” she confessed. “It's like it was always there, that we were the only ones who couldn't see it, and everyone else knew that our every protest was just us lying to ourselves.” He pulled back far enough for her to see his face.  
  
"I know,” he breathed.  
  
"I fought it for so long,” she could feel tears streaming down her face, but she pressed on: “I didn't realize until you said goodbye:  you left me, fully intending to die.  And then I tried to stuff it away, but it happened again. And there was always something in the way, some new danger...”  
  
"It was when you told me no,” he interrupted. “We had laughed together, seen the Earth be born, nearly died, and then you decided to leave me.”  His voice caught in his throat:  "But it was too soon, I wasn't ready to let anyone else in, not after losing Rose...." He started to cry, and she tried to reach out to him, but it was difficult. She managed to escape from her pajama top, discarding it, and wrapped her arms around him, full breasts pressed to bare chest. He was wider than he looked, still thin, but all man, capable of protecting her from so many dangers, but not capable of protecting himself.  
  
"I know," she told him softly.  "It's okay, I have you now."  He cried silently, tears dripping from his nose onto her shoulder as he clung to her for support.  
  
“It's like it was meant to be,” he mused in wonder.  "What did I do to..."  He didn't finish, but she knew, and held him all the more tightly.  The Tardis hummed at them, something that sounded distinctly like  _I told you so_. She wondered if the Tardis could talk to her directly if she listened hard enough. The Doctor was pulling away from her, though, and reached his hand out to her hesitantly, his palm hovering over a bared dome of flesh:  "Can I touch you?” he asked. The raw desire in his voice was palpable. It made her blush, and want to hide her face, but she already knew what she wanted:  
  
"Please.” His hand found her breast, and cupped it reverently. She was startled by the sensations that started flooding through her again as he thumbed her nipple, causing it to harden beneath his cool touch. He palmed the breast's weight experimentally, and she was surprised to discover that his hand was large enough to cup her completely with his fingers spread wide. He moved to take her other breast in hand as well. Her eyes drifted shut as she allowed herself to enjoy his ministrations.  
  
"You are incredibly beautiful, Mrs. Noble, and believe me, I don't say that lightly.” She lifted her gaze to discover that he was staring at her, his eyes dark with lust. “I just so happen to have seen a lot of women in my time—not like this, mind you—and most of them were far too skinny.” One of his hands drifted lower, stroking her skin with a feather light touch, kneading her bared belly. She suddenly was finding it difficult to breathe. “You're just the perfect size for me.”  
  
"Mrs. Noble?” she asked. She abruptly remembered that he had called her Noble only a minute ago: it had not registered at the time because she was so used to it. He grinned disarmingly:  
  
"On Gallifrey, husbands take the name of their wife,” he informed her. “And if you're still coherent enough to be asking questions, I think that I may be more rusty than I thought I was.” He dipped his head to take her free nipple into his mouth, and nibbled on her gently, which quickly had her squirming. She was starting to suspect that he was shielding her from his mind but that he had no trouble reading her own and knowing exactly what would drive her insane the quickest, to the edge, but not over it. She was rubbish at doing this for herself, she was much too impatient to get things over with to prolong ecstasy on her own.  
  
Once again, she felt more like a subject than a participant. Her hand dipped under the blanket, searching for what she thought she rightly assumed was a still ready and waiting erection. He hissed against her breast as she found what she was searching for. This time he didn't try to dissuade her as she started to stroke him. He unfolded slightly, to sit in her lap, and provide her with more access, but continued to lave and suck on her breast. He was very long, and had at first seemed curved, like a banana, but after a few passes turned out to be erect and straight: more like she would expect from a Human man. But he was a good deal longer than any man that she had ever been with before, that much was obvious.  
  
He had switched breasts, but was still flicking the first nipple, which was causing a tightening in her lower abdomen. Her head lolled back to the chair's headrest, but she focused on keeping her strokes even, slightly increasing her pace. They remained like this for several minutes, simultaneously giving each other pleasure, him gradually starting to rub her center through her pants, her enjoying his twitches, which told her that he was getting close. And then he dropped a bombshell on her: “I have loved you far more than I know how to say for a long time now.” Her eyes opened wide in surprise, lifting to meet his, but they were veiled from her beneath freckled eyelids, his breathing turning ragged and catching in his throat as he called out her name, shuddering, panting, and collapsed, tucking his face into her throat. She continued for a few moments, then eased her hand away, still dry and wondering why he hadn't ejaculated, but remained silent, satisfying herself with stroking his hair, then caressing his chest, taking in his chiseled lines. Slight he may be, but he was also well built, not that he would ever be an Arnold Schwarzenegger. He was a runner: she didn't mind as long as he continued to run into her arms.  
  
He slowly came back to himself, and growled against her neck. “You are wearing entirely too much.” She shrieked as he suddenly leapt out of the chair with her in his arms, and carried her over to the bed, tossing her onto it playfully. He was stronger than she had reckoned. He kissed her firmly on the lips, then smoothly pulled her pajama bottoms and panties off in one smooth stroke, settling his torso between her legs, lifting her knees to open her to him. “Prepare yourself for my own special brand of torture, Mrs. Noble.” And then he proceeded to drive all coherent thought out of her mind merely using the power of his tongue.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This time we get into some biobabble that is all me, explaining more in depth just how alien the Doctor is... and of course they get down to some more sweet lovings and address some issues that are still in the air. Once again, this is not work friendly.

Donna awoke in slow degrees with a vague impression of pleasant dreams drifting away from her.  The first thing that she was aware of was the intimate way she and the Doctor were spooned together.  One of his arms was under her body and wrapped across her stomach to keep her body close to his, the other arm draped over her body, his hand cupping a breast possessively.  She felt safe, loved, needed.  His breath was slow and even against her cheek, his chest felt pleasantly cool against her overheated back: their different body temperatures complimented each other nicely. An unidentified wandering appendage was stroking her bum gently, reverently.  His bottom leg was flush with her own, his top knee was inserted between her own.  She was still hovering on the edge of consciousness.  Time was drifting, and they were floating on it, maybe because they were touching and he was still asleep. She somehow felt complete and unsated simultaneously, because of and despite the fact that he had made her come, not once, but twice more due to his amazing oral skills. Whatever chemicals her body was being affected by were powerful and had driven her to exhaustion, but she was feeling much recovered now that they had slept a few hours.  
  
She gradually became aware that if his arms were wrapped around her body, and his legs were tangled with her own, that left only one appendage unaccounted for. Somehow she found it strangely erotic that it was the Doctor's morning wood which was proving to be amazingly efficient at coaxing her back awake and turning her on even more. At this point, she became aware that it had been six hours, forty-seven minutes, and a handful of seconds since she had last come. She realized that she knew this because the Doctor knew it: he was awake now and starting to get uncomfortable again. His thick manhood drifted to insinuate itself between her thighs, the base pressing firmly against her bottom, the tip alternately teasing her entrance and stretching to search for her clitoris, coaxing her body awake again so that it was tingling pleasantly.  Unfortunately, less pleasant needs were also making themselves known.  The Doctor's arms tightened slightly when she tried to slide away from him; she slapped at his wrists gently, and he released her without making a sound. She slipped out from under the covers, and it took her a moment to find her robe in the dark and put it on. Then she leaned over the bed to give him a peck on the cheek:  
  
“Don't move,” she commanded him quietly. “Go back to sleep.”  
  
She decided a little freshening up was in order, so she left to use her own en-suite. After relieving herself she brushed her hair and clipped it back, then brushed her teeth. She was more than a little hungry, so she slipped down to the kitchen to make some toast and tea. She didn't want to take the time to fry up eggs and bacon, but she was famished. She grabbed a few pieces of fruit and the marmalade and set it all on a tray to carry back for breakfast in bed.  
  
By the time she got back to his--their?--room, he had rolled onto his back. One arm was thrown over his face, hiding his expression from her, but she noticed that his entire body was rigid again. She wondered what he was upset about now; he certainly wasn't turning out to be an easy shell to crack. She placed the tray on the nightstand and climbed on the bed beside him, reaching out to stroke his arm, but he recoiled slightly.  
  
"What's wrong?” she asked.  
  
"You haven't done anything wrong, just... it startled me, is all.” She fluffed the pillow that she had been using and set it up against the headboard:  
  
"What did?” she asked, settling back on the bed, her back against the pillow.  
  
"It's alright if you are repulsed by me,” he informed her in a monotone. She slapped his arm, hard. “Ow!” he yelled, sitting up and cradling the inflamed flesh. “What was that for?!?”  
  
"Are you wallowing?” she demanded. “I go to tinkle and get breakfast, and I come back to discover that you're being self-conscious again?!?”  
  
"Well I thought that you were upset because...” he sputtered, “because of how I woke you up.”  
  
"How long is it going to take to get it through your thick skull that I'm not going to run off because you're an alien!” she scoffed.  
  
"Well fine then!”  
  
"Fine!” They both fell silent, and he proceeded to hide his face in his hands, sighing exasperatedly. She regarded him for a long moment, calm now that she had gotten her frustrations out. He could be so infuriating. She sighed, and placed the tray on the bed in between them. She picked up a slice of bacon and took a bite: “We need to talk,” she informed him. She held his plate out to him. “Are you hungry?”  
  
After she had poured their tea and given him the chance to eat most of his meal, she watched him tucking in with an appraising look: “After you're finished, I think that it's time to get something else out of the way.” He raised an eyebrow, but continued to stuff more toast in his mouth.  
  
"Do I want to know?” She started to peel a banana, and tried to ignore the fact that his table manners were something to be desired. She really hoped that he didn't get crumbs in the bed. She decided to come right out and say it:  
  
"There's no way you're keeping that lovely piece of equipment hidden for the rest of my life.” He choked on his food, hard, and had to cough in order to regain his composure. She couldn't tell if his face was red because he couldn't breathe or because he was embarrassed. She had a feeling that it was both. “You're more shy about this than I expected.”  
  
"'Expected'?” he mused aloud. It was her turn to blush, and he grinned at her disarmingly.  
  
"Alright, so I wondered,” she allowed. “Don't tell me you never have?” That wiped the smile off his face, and he turned to his own banana, turning away from her. His ears were still decidedly pink, even if she couldn't see his face.  
  
"So, three days to calm down?” she marveled. “How does that work, exactly?”  
  
"Time Lords can only mate a couple of times a year in the right conditions,” he stated matter of factly. “There are different phases of arousal, or oestrus, which Gallifreyan women have developed the ability to suppress.” He was using technical jargon to distance himself, she realized, but she sat back and let him talk. She was curious. “Coitus has four stages: Foreplay, Singing, Priming, and Copulation.” Donna's jaw dropped:  
  
"What, four?”  
  
"It takes... well, time,” he finished lamely. Donna couldn't help herself, she laughed, to which he rose his eyebrows questioningly.  
  
"Oh, don't mind me,” she said, plucking another piece of toast from the tray that was propped on the bed between them. She sat back and sucked some marmalade off one of her fingers: “Continue.” He growled at her:  
  
"Minx.”  
  
"Ha! You know you love it.” He sighed, and continued his explication:  
  
"So, first the female emits a chemical, which you're not even going to be able to pronounce, which lets the male know that she's interested. Which gets the male hot under the collar, and he gets aroused, and joining applies his own chemical to her cervix which signals to her body that the engines can get started. So her body releases an egg, are you following me?”  
  
"So far,” Donna acknowledged, finishing off the last of her tea. “This chemical is what you gave me to drink?”  
  
"Kind of, it's complicated.”  
  
"Obviously, so when did you start carrying that little vial around with you?” she probed. The Doctor looked surprised, then impressed:  
  
"Have I ever told you that you're brilliant?”  
  
"Now you're offending me, you act like it wasn't obvious that you had to have prepared that before we even arrived on this planet,” she responded. She prodded him with a finger, digging it hard in his ribs: “You're avoiding the question.” He mumbled something under his breath, blushing. “What?”  
  
"Since we left the Ood Sphere,” he mumbled. She let that hang for a moment, then started cleaning away the tray, stacking their empty plates first.  
  
"You were going to tell me about Stage Two?” she asked, snagging one of his pieces of bacon.  
  
"Yes, Singing,” he said with obvious relief. “Well, I actually prodded that along with the vial as well to make things easier for you, since your body obviously wouldn't react that way on its own, but it took my body a while to catch up.”  
  
"That's the pheromones I could smell, is it?” she asked, setting the tray on the side table.  
  
"Yes, our minds and bodies call to each other to heighten arousal, which makes the woman's body prepare more quickly.” She plucked the marmalade jar from his hand and set it aside as well. While he took a sip of his tea and set it back on his nightstand she took off her robe and climbed back onto the bed. “You're naked,” he noted, a stunned expression on his face.  
  
"So I am,” she smiled, half a laugh sticking in her throat. She found it strangely exhilarating there was nothing between his eyes and her flesh but air. He stared at her, a slightly stunned look on his face, frozen. “Is there anything different about me, compared to Time Lady's I mean?” she asked, a bit hesitantly. He closed his mouth:  
  
"Well, no, not on the outside. I mean, you're much softer looking than my wife was, she was always so bony.”  
  
"You're one to talk.” He had the sense to look sheepish:  
  
"Well... I suppose I am.” She smiled, leaning over to press her body firmly against his and kissed him hard, full on the lips. He liked that, and reciprocated in kind, making a humming in the back of the throat that made her blush in remembrance. That had felt particularly delightful when he had been paying attention to her nether regions. She smoothed her hand lower, searching, exploring between them; he was still ready and waiting. She pulled away, out of breath, and started to rub him through the blanket.  
  
"So, this entire time, you're still ready to go, doesn't that get to be uncomfortable?”  
  
"You have no idea.” Donna was desperate to see him uncovered. He was warier, but she wanted to get to know his body and pleasure him. He had been a generous lover so far, and the thought of being with him again excited her more than she would have thought possible twenty-four hours ago. It was time to take the next step. He groaned as she reached her hand beneath the fabric to gently stroke him, whisper soft on his hypersensitive skin. “My wife could be quite cruel, waiting until the maximum amount of time had passed to ensure receptivity.” She knelt beside him to pull back the covers, her gaze locked with his:  
  
"I don't want to hear about Lady Ice Queen any more for at least the next 48 hours,” she informed him. He sat stock still as she disposed of the blanket. He was obviously nervous, but he didn't move to cover himself. Having exposed his erection, she decided to let him get used to this new idea. She would have never guessed that he would be so shy, but she didn't let it bother her. It was her turn to dominate, and she was going to make sure that he enjoyed himself: if that meant taking things slow, then so be it. She didn't sit back and stare at him right away; instead, she got rid of the hair clip and curled up beside him.  
  
While they kissed, her hands roamed, and then her mouth started to do so as well, peppering kisses over his face, eyelids, cheeks, neck, collarbone, lower, her hair tickling his chest as he sagged deeper in the bed and she worked her way down him, following his freckles like a dot to dot. Her tongue dipped into his belly button, which caused his hips to jerk. She dragged her nails teasingly over his abs, ran her tongue along his hip, causing him to groan, but then she sat back and started over at his toes. She avoided the elephant in the room entirely, wanting him to want her to go there. As she kissed her way up his body, it wasn't long before he became a quivering mess.  
  
And then she reached her goal again. His penis was stretched out against his lower abdomen. Though she had been completely avoiding touching him here thus far, and working her way up to it with measured slowness, she hadn't been completely oblivious to what she was doing to this part of his body. He had been curled up and tucked in when she had first started, but now it was stretched out to his full length. He had gone very still again, and was looking pale as she regarded him. “Four stages,” she repeated. “So when you collapsed on me out there...?”  
  
"We... I'm multi-orgasmic,” he stuttered. “I'll have another two or three orgasms before I actually come.” She caressed his thigh reassuringly, each pass coming closer to home, causing his penis to point upwards towards the ceiling in anticipation. But she ignored it for the time being. She dipped her hand in between his thighs, and he parted them slightly, allowing her more access, and that was when she realized that he didn't have a scrotum.  
  
"Well that's different,” she noted casually, teasing his perineum with a probing fingertip, judging his reaction, which was an increase of respiration. “Are you sterile?” she asked, thinking of mules.  
  
"Donna, I've had children, remember?” It was her turn to be embarrassed, though technically he hadn't answered her question. He was quite a bit older than her, after all. “My testes are the same place you keep your ovaries,” he managed to mumble as she continued stroking him, his hand drifting to knead her lower abdomen. She shuddered, slightly ticklish there.  
  
"Oh... right.” She tried to ignore what his touch was doing to her body and return to the matter at hand. He shivered when her fingers brushed against the base of his erection, and she gently ran her finger up along the underside. It was wide awake now, fully extended and reaching for her. His foreskin was abundant and still partially covered the tip. His penis was long, at least a foot in length, and slightly tapered, which she realized was a good thing because he was very thick at the base. She lifted her gaze to meet the Doctor's, and realized that he was watching her observe him, his previous fears forgotten, and he was very much aroused. She blushed. “So, what do we have here?” she asked, as she wrapped her fingers around him and slid her fist slowly up, excruciatingly slowly.  
  
"I'm prehensile,” he informed her, “like marsupials are on Earth.” His breath caught in his throat as she reached the head, and his eyes darkened even more. His irises seemed almost black now, and his shaft vibrated in her hand as she continued to slowly pump him.  
  
"Doctor,” she whispered as she ran her hand up his thigh, to his hip. “Shut up.” She bent down, filling his lap with hair, and kissed the head of his cock, sliding back his foreskin gently to uncover the glans. Then she proceeded to slowly take him into her mouth, her tongue lightly running along his frenulum before gliding deeper and creating some slight suction.  
  
"Oh!” he gasped, his hips jerked and he fell backward onto the pillows. His hands reached for her head, fingers tangling in her hair. He was squirming beneath her, except for his penis, which he was being very careful to keep still as she started to move her mouth slowly up and down his shaft. “You really don't need to do that.” She pulled back just enough to respond:  
  
"I want to,” she assured him. She bent over him again, easily finding a rhythm with her hand that matched the bob of her head. His fingers tightened in her hair, trying to pull her head back, but still in control: he was more mindful of not hurting her than actually getting her to stop.  
  
"No, really, you don't...” his entire body was vibrating now, his breath coming in deep gasps. She took him deep in her throat and hummed, and his entire body went rigid as he came, crying out inarticulately. Donna pulled back, slightly stunned. It hadn't taken him as long as she had expected. The Doctor's body was limp with the after-effects of his most recent orgasm, and his penis was still throbbing in her hand. He still had not ejaculated, but the taste of him had changed from a mix of sweet and salty to only salty. Her entire mouth tingled, and waves of heat were starting to roll through her, starting with her throat and palm.  
  
"Oh, Donna, why?” he asked, still gasping for air. “Stage 3, you shouldn't do that in Stage 3.”  
  
"Why not?” she asked. She lifted her hand: and sniffed, then licked it clean before she even thought about it. Her hand had been coated with a thin oil, which was making her entire body sing and come awake again.  
  
“Stage 3 is priming, I secrete oils that increase fertility and your saliva is going to make me last longer in Stage 4.”  
  
"So?” she giggled, luxuriating in the dizzy sensations that were flooding through her body. She was rather disappointed that it hadn't taken him longer to complete Stage 3. She could feel herself throbbing wet down below and was very ready to make love to him again.  
  
"My wife always said that ingestion would give her a headache.”  Donna thought that this felt like anything  _but_  a headache.  She was floating, and his concern was grounding her, even while she wasn't paying it any heed.  She could sense what he was thinking and feeling even more strongly than ever before.  
  
"Stop that, I'm your wife now.” Donna frowned at him as she climbed up his body, arranging herself in his lap. “You mean to tell me that your wife never did that?” she demanded, starting to slide herself against him, searching for friction. He barely managed to prop himself up on his elbows: Stage 3 really seemed to have taken it out of him.  
  
"No, never,” he confirmed. “That was incredible.”  
  
She leaned down to kiss him, and rocked her hips against him more urgently, glad that he didn't have a long recovery time. Lance had always fallen asleep immediately and never been up for a full night of pleasuring: in other words, she would get him off, and then he never got around to returning the favor. If she wouldn't have loved him so much, and delighted in pleasuring him, then it would have been even more frustrating.  She hadn't thought too much of Lance wanting to wait for their wedding night at the time.  She was certainly content with this wedding night.  The Doctor's tongue roamed her mouth hungrily. She reached down to take him in hand between her legs, and shifted her hips, guiding him in. “Donna...” the Doctor's mouth had broken away from hers, and he let out with a strangled cry as she lowered her body onto him. “You're so tight.”  
  
And it was. It took her a few moments to adjust. She contracted and released experimentally, and then she started rocking against him, which quickly started to feel incredible, so she started slowly raising and lowering her hips with a steady rhythm. The Doctor moved haphazardly beneath her, his head thrown back. He wasn't looking at her, or making any noise, but his voice gradually started coming to her in waves, whispers in the back of her mind at first, but gradually sounding as if he was thinking aloud in a normal tone, chanting how much he loved her like a mantra.  
  
He was scared. He hid it well, he was fully surrendered to what his body was driving him to do, but he loved her. That was the problem. He loved her so much that every fiber of his being was screaming at him to run away. Visions of her dying, being injured, leaving, rejecting him, started pulsing through their minds, and she recognized them as memories, not of her, but of companions he had lost in the past, of his wife and children and friends in the war. He started to tremble, and reached out to hold onto her in desperation. His eyes opened wide, and she could see his pain unveiled in his eyes.  A sob caught in his throat.  
  
"Shh...” she whispered to him in soothing tones. She reached out to him, and he sat up all the way to meet her, their arms enfolding each other. She stopped the dance that her body had been glorying in, but left them joined. She took his head in her hands and cooed at him, trying to make the sound that he had made to her the first time he had made love to her. It was a poor approximation, but he understood. He started crying openly, and she stroked his face and hair lovingly. She loved him so much.  
  
"This can't be happening,” he told her. “Why can I hear what you're thinking?” It wasn't until that moment that she realized that he hadn't known that she could see all of his memories the night before. His wife had always carefully kept her thoughts veiled to him, and he hadn't expected a deeper connection with her.  
  
"You don't know everything, Spaceman.” She started kissing him, enjoying the sensations that were pulsing through her body, creating a sweet symphony, slowly building to something more. She started rolling her hips forward against his, but kept their bodies firmly joined. His own need was pressing against her sweet spot sporadically, slowly driving her insane. His mouth dipped to suckle at her breast.  
  
He was thinking about his children now. They looked nothing like him, at least not the way he looked now. He thought about how brilliant they had been, how much he missed them, how empty he felt without the voices of his family and his people to whisper to him. There was so much longing here, that it left her breathless. “Can we have children?” she asked aloud.  
  
He froze, and she could feel the fresh adrenaline that was pumping through his veins. It created a pleasant buzz over their mental connection. He hadn't even thought that far ahead, he didn't let his mind go there  _ever_. He was trying to suppress the hope that was starting to bubble up in him, this was part of the reason that he was terrified. He didn't know, he had never wanted to risk taking that chance. To him, sex guaranteed children, was the only reason for participating in the act, but she had opened his eyes to an entirely different world of lovemaking and acceptance.  He was emotionally exhausted, but simultaneously lamenting the fact that his body would not be able to do this again for another four months. It took so much out of him that it took him that long to recover. She started rolling her hips in figure eights, pulling his mind back to the task at hand. It was getting harder for him to focus on more than one thing at a time, and she wanted to drive rational thought out of his mind again. He thought too much.  
  
She started to lift herself up again, but he startled her by lifting his body with hers. He flipped them over, still joined, but barely. He had to rearrange himself between her thighs to find a good position to thrust from without leaning too much weight on her. At least, he was worried about his weight, she was rather hoping that she could feel more of him on top of her. Once he had situated himself, he pulled out even further, which she didn't like at all. She rocked her hips upwards, but he held still, lowering one hand to her clitoris. He then proceeded to drive her crazy with his fingers. He started whispering sweet nothings to her in Gallifreyan, repeating each one in English in turn, as he busied his mouth pleasuring her breasts. Before long she was starting to squirm, and finally he sensed that her exasperation was sliding towards annoyance, and mercifully he gently glided back into her and rocked forward once he was buried inside as deeply as possible.  
  
This was their first try in this position, and it was even more intimate. He started to slowly pump in and out of her. Her hands drifted down his back, roaming, caressing, sliding to eventually cup his bum, which she could feel was well toned, muscular from so much running. She gave him a squeeze, and he giggled, which sounded out of place because of the intensity of the moment. She loved that sound. She wished that he was happy more often.  
  
His hands moved to lift her legs and wrap them around his body, which caused him to hit new places inside. She was getting close. She couldn't think straight at all, it was too much, so she dropped her hands away from his body to roam her own. He wanted to see her pleasure herself, because it was all that he could do to hold himself up now. One hand drifted to her clit, and she watched him pounding into her. His eyes closed with the sensory overload of seeing that through her eyes.  
  
Donna could not believe that she was in this man's arms, being driven closer and closer to completion with exquisite tenderness. She panted with abandon, wondering at the sensations that were building in her, the love that felt like it was overflowing from every pour in her body. She didn't realize she was crying until the Doctor started to lick her tears away, and then their foreheads met, and he was there, around her, and she was inside him, so real that she could no longer tell where she ended and he began. It was too much. She came undone, calling his name, and time seemed to freeze, spinning around her again, full of promise in its glorious complexity. It was the most intense thing that she had ever experienced. As she started to come down, she realized that she was keening, her muscles were still clenching hard around him.  
  
The Doctor struggled to keep the rhythm, to keep hitting that spot inside her. She held onto his arm with her free hand and reached down farther with the hand she had used to pleasure herself, and enclosed the part of his length that was too thick to be encased within her. After a few more thrusts into her hand and her vagina he shuddered. Something within him released, and she could feel him filling her with his cold seed, his penis pulsing within her, as he came hard. He collapsed on top of her, and she wrapped her arms around him, her mind singing her love to him, her mouth whispering the same to him over and over again. He felt sore all over, he didn't even feel like he could move for a full two minutes, and then he realized where he was. “Don't move,” she beseeched him. “It's okay, just stay here, I have you.”  
  
The Tardis vibrated around them, singing, and Donna wondered at the completely unexpected turn their lives had taken.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Beginning


End file.
